Frank had held his promise of only talking French the whole day which found great response from the crowd and now, unlocking the door to the hotel room, Gerard felt positively spent.

Frank, on the other hand, was more or less bouncing around again, babbling on in French. Gerard knew that it didn’t make sense, but didn’t say anything this time. He wordlessly got under the shower, dreading the night about to come.

When he got back, clad in fresh clothes, he felt human again, Frank sprinted into the bathroom and Gerard only saw from his periphery view that the guitarist had grabbed their show-outfits, laughing manically as he locked the bathroom door.

“Hey!” Gerard shouted, “What are you doing to my clothes?”

“Wash them, what else?” Frank called, switching back to English again.

“Why?” the singer whimpered. “My good clothes!”

“He asks why…” Frank muttered, loud enough for Gerard to hear. “Because we were starting to smell like dead animals, and I really don’t want to smell like a dead animal, especially not in France!”

Gerard sighed. “And I don’t want to smell like hotel-shampoo…” he mumbled and turned on the TV. He stared open-mouthed at the news, not understanding a word.

He let himself fall back onto the big bed he was sitting on. He looked around the room, now shocked. This was getting more and more cliché with every second… there wasn’t another bed in the room. He felt the heat leaving his face.

Frank opened the door of the bathroom, only clad in boxer-shorts, arms full of damp clothes. He looked around the room, scanning it for some chairs he could hang the clothes over to let them dry.

“And: I also smell of hotel-shampoo!” he said and leaned over Gerard, wringing his wet hair out on the singer’s face.

“Frank!!” Gerard yelled and his arms shot forward to pull Frank down onto the bed. The guitarist squeaked and flung his arms wildly to prevent himself from falling, but he didn’t quite manage and fell down next to Gerard, Who was on his knees now, tickling Frank.

“Nononono!” the shorter man screamed. “You know ho ticklish I am!” he tried to wrestle Gerard of off him and somehow, they ended up as a tangled mess under the sheets of the bed, Gerard on top of Frank, who still was laughing even though Gerard didn’t tickle him anymore.

Gerard’s heart beat fast as he looked down at Frank. “I…” he began.

The guitarist looked up inquiringly. “Yes?” he breathed.

The tension between them was literally blistering and Gerard couldn’t concentrate anymore. “Do… do you remember?” he finally managed to say.